


Good Bitch

by brittlelimbs



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Animalistic, Ass Play, Bunny credence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Orgy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Wolf graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs
Summary: Credence bounded through the clearing. The forest around him swayed lazily in the warmth of the afternoon, and he could smell everything, every living morsel, screaming with heat. The base sort. The pleasurable sort; in the cruel, humid spring, bunnies needed, badly, to be fucked.[bunboy!Credence gets done good by wolf!Graves. Shameless, cracky smut]





	Good Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> sorry folks. i dont really have much of an excuse for this one. poorly edited and poorly executed

Spring had a scent to it. Dew, maybe, or, flowers: the chicory was twisting up from the lichen, the wild lilac was swaying in the meadows, and the golden blessing of pollen was thick on the breeze. Everything, dripping.  
But bunny’s noses knew better.  
Credence bounded through the clearing. The forest around him swayed lazily in the warmth of the afternoon, and he could smell everything, every living morsel, screaming with _heat_. The base sort. The pleasurable sort; in the cruel, humid spring, bunnies needed, badly, to be fucked, just as the birds needed grass for their nests, or the river water was cold, or night came earlier over the long, black forest in winter. It was deep May, Credence was ripe—the whole world was– and there was a logical rhythm to it. Something natural. 

They found some pleasure in each other, back at the warren, but he’d grown achy and tired with their soft, impotent pawing. Neither boy bunnies nor girl bunnies seemed to sate him; he wept, oftentimes, disappointed after filling himself with one playmate’s tiny cocks, or disinterested entirely in another’s warm, wet hole. The other ones, mystified, held him while he cried, stroked the velveteen blackness of his perfect, quivering ears as they whispered sweetness into them. Even Tina, or Queenie, the ones he held closest to his heart, didn’t understand. They rolled over and offered their cunts to him, instead, like the rest, which he fucked out of politeness but couldn’t truly enjoy.  
Spring wore on, full of naughty cuddling in their warm, cozy den, and the others became closer. The boys grew lackadaisical. The girls got pregnant. Credence cultivated a fierce craving that crawled under his skin like a sickness: Bunny, unhinged. 

So here he was. Searching the forest for—something. This month had been peppered with expeditions; he’d drawn slow loops across their valley, meandering among the trees in every conceivable direction. Up to the foothills, down to the river, which was the real thing, bigger than their creek, white and frothing and glorious. The other bunnies quaked and chattered, _nono, too dangerous, don’t go_ , but he went anyways, and slowly they stopped greeted him with kisses when he returned, no longer surprised at his survival and too busy with kits. He knew the risk; he had nothing else, besides this.  
He crouched atop a flat, wide boulder, this big, glaciated thing from an eon long forgotten, and took an indulgent breath. He was nearly home. The afternoon was beginning to sink into early evening, twilit, and the quality of light had drifted silty and pink. Heat aside, the forest had begun to take on a sweet scent of its own, which he enjoyed. He slipped off and meandered down the track home, well-beaten into the dirt by generations bunny-feet, wallowing in it.  
Overhead, a sparrow arced from Douglas fir to birchbark. The woods were comfortably quiet.  
And then, just as easy: chaos.  
Credence could scent it on the breeze. At first he didn’t understand, couldn’t quite decipher what this newness was. Somebody near the warren was fucking, and, for the very first time, it smelled _delicious_. Hot, wet, musky. The exacting, lovely finger crooked to scratch the itch. It felt too good to be true, but he cleared the underbrush near the bank in a heartbeat, feeling his hole slick and his cock fill with excitement. Oh, how he wished to join! How long he’d waited! His whole body felt flush and bursting with need, with springtime—

The sound came before the sight. Credence recognized the twist of wrong and tried to bank short against the mossy thickness of a tree root, but it was too late. He was flying, already at the creek’s edge, now, and through the copse of pines on the opposite bank, he could see that something wasn’t right; the tiny, pitiful cries of a bunny in pain sent a shiver down his spine, made his mouth dry, called all the downy hairs on his arms and thighs to stand up in fear.  
In silhouette, in the cool shade above the golden water, a huge figure moved with lewd, menacing repetition over one of his kin. The bunny was braced against a tree, ass up, and Credence quickly realized that the cries were aroused, not pained. The thing towered over it, even when stooped, body padded thick with muscle. A long tail, crimped up in pleasure, and two ears, pinned back to the head. Credence’s heart nearly swooned with terror: A wolf. A wolf had come to their warren.

For a moment, all he could do was watch the beast thrust into the tiny bunny, hard, harder, shocked stock-straight and still with his feet in the warm, wet mud. Then he saw a splash of hair and the pale, akimbo limbs of an unconscious body strewn in the tall grass of the sandy bank opposite; this bunny was not his—for it was lewdly obvious that this monster was male—first prey by any means. The hair in the grass was dark. Maybe Tina, maybe someone else. _Maybe_ , Credence shivered, _dead_. 

A moan broke loose from his mouth, low and plaintive. 

The wolf froze. Credence felt a shiver up his spine while he watched, as if in a dream, as he tipped his back and scented the air. With a grunt, he pulled out of his prey, and _oh_ , seeing the size of the thing that had been made to fit inside his broodmate made Credence nearly faint.    
Credence blinked; the wolf had found him. Looked right at him from across the creek, brazen as anything. His eyes were black; he was not a young wolf, Credence thought, noticing crows feet and folded skin in some bizarre limbo of fear. Neither young nor old.  
The wolf snarled.  
Credence ran. He was a rabbit, and he _ran_ , so quickly that he felt like a heart and legs and nothing else. He took the track back up faster than he ever had before, skirting the meadow in seconds, heading in no discernible direction save for _away_. 

Pebbles cut his feet, grown tender with leisure. Tree limbs cut his limbs. Around him, the stagnant air of the springtime moaned, parting its legs for him so he might burrow more and more deeply into the hotness of its syrupy, golden madness. He could feel the wolf behind him, because prey like him are born knowing something’s biting at their heels, but the dizziness of his lust made him slow. Made him stupid. He cut through a glade at the bottom of the draw, making for denser underbrush that could be good, might be safe, but couldn’t know for certain. He blustered through a bush. All the risk, the sweet, soupy adrenaline of it, blasting his nerve endings, pushing him forwards, forwards. He would die, he was sure of it—even if it was from the cold, hard absence that had taken up residence in his chest.    
Behind him, the wolf howled. Credence grasped in fright, then realized, at once, could smell him through his open mouth.

The wolf’s scent was divine. 

 _Crunch_ , twist, a blossom of pain on Credence’s brow bone, a dart above his left eye, as he smashed it against something, a stump, a root, clumsy with need— and the chase had ended.   
His head jarred against the forest floor. It was almost lovely: for a moment, he was left to ponder, just to ponder, to squint and eyeball with his one good socket at the dreamy, purplish sky. Felt good against his foggy mind, for a second. He knew this forest, this dirt in his hair. Then he was being flipped onto his belly, wolf-scent in his nose and mouth and lungs, and he didn’t know much at all. His head pounded and sparked, breath knocked right from his ribs. His chest strained against the dirt, truly knowing nothing, up nor down, real nor waking dream.  
Distantly, he felt a meaty hand lifting his tail, another parting the peachy curve of his ass, then wuff of hot breath sniffing against his exposed hole.  
The wolf was scenting him.  
“Dry,” came a half-whisper, then _Ah–!_ there was a wide tongue lapping against the tight bud of Credence’s asshole. He squealed, feeling hot spit dribble down his taint, little black tail trembling as he tried to wriggle away; the wolf gripped the meat of his thigh, one globe of his ass, laving the tight furl of muscle with a frothing eagerness that left Credence aroused and terrified. He was being feasted upon. 

Heat—that damnable heat, the very same that haunted him—curled deep in Credence’s belly, welling, then overflowing up into a thick, viscous nectar that began to weep from his hole; the wolf thirstily lapped up a few drops, hmming in approval in a way that went made Credence’s belly tremble with absolute, sublime pleasure, gnash his teeth.  
At once, the mouth was gone. Credence’s hips rolled wantonly upwards, tail and cock erect, hungry. He was gone on it.  
“Be a good bitch,” the wolf snarled. A hand smacked his ass. Credence squeaked right back, scandalized. The wolf’s voice was curling, rough in some gravely cross-species dialect Credence had never heard, but before he could catch much else, he ate dirt; the wolf was pushing his tender, swelling face right down, into the mossy loam. Credence cried out, getting soil in his mouth for his trouble. His blood tasted like metal where he bit the inside of his cheek.  
He could feel the heat of the wolf’s loins behind him; you couldn’t call them anything but, huge as they were, red, stinking with sweat. Credence was tickled by the foreign prickle of pubic hair against his skin, but the push of cock was blinding as it began to sink into Credence’s body, no pretense, no context. He was huge and Credence wasn’t—he couldn’t be slick enough. In all of Credence’s tiny bunny life, he had never breached by something so enormous, and he felt his asshole flutter just to try and compensate for the wolf’s fat head.  
It went on and on, terrifying and amazing; Credence soon felt his hips being hiked up and his face being pressed down further into the dirt as he was fed more cock. Credence mewled and squirmed in discomfort, little hole overwhelmed by the raw, huge press. The wolf snarled again, then fucked Credence, once, twice; he’d spear his way deep, punching a broken _ah_ from Credence on each jagged thrust. 

Credence gnawed at one curled fist to keep from crying out, overfull, entirely intending to split right down the middle, and then it was done: the wolf’s hips were settled at his tailbone, face down, ass up, posed for a thorough breeding. Instinct, underbellied and pure. 

The wolf started a punishing pace. Pumping pumping pumping, saying with each snap of his hips: _you feel like like heaven on my prick, gonna make you fat with my babies, gonna make you love this cock_ , grunting and carrying on regardless of logic—Credence was vaguely aware that he must look how all the girl bunnies do, or the boy ones when they took good dick, eyes rolled up in their heads and mouths lolling open with pleasure. 

Those hedonistic idiots. But oh, how it felt. _It felt_. Droplets of slick rolled down his taint and pattered to the forest floor between his knees, staining it dark. He cried out, cock bobbing against his belly as he was scooched across the ground thrust by heavy thrust. It was too much, too lush; he was wet enough to flood the forest, rivers notwithstanding. He could feel the wolf’s knot beginning to swell, making it harder and harder for him to pull out on the backstroke, threatening to lock them together for good—  
The heat socked him in the tummy so hard it took his breath away, and still the wolf’s cock carried him. His seed dribbled from his own dick in trembly, shaken spurts. Prey, absolutely, light as flax and half as significant. He wailed with the sweetness of his orgasm, toe-curling-good, so overwhelmed that he shook like a leaf from ears to tail.

“Good bitch,” the wolf snarled, biting down onto Credence’s shoulder, then filled Credence in a hot, wet gush, knot swollen and satisfied and buried deep.    
They lay, panting together for a moment. Credence felt the huge cock shifting in his belly and listened to the sounds of his forest rising up around them, evening eclipsing into true night.  
The wolf snuffled against his neck. It was deep May, the time for the world to squirm in its own skin, and Credence the bunny boy marveled: 

Finally, finally.


End file.
